I Hate Picture Windows
by Callsign Godfather
Summary: Oneshot: Delta Force SSgt. Riley Rhodes is having a bad day in Saudi Arabia, and the heat is the least of his problems... Rated T for mild language, alcohol and tobacco references, action sequences and mild jingoism. Also, I can haz Read and Review?


**An Author's Note:** If these characters have anything to do with real people, I apologize in advance for my mistake. Also, I don't own Activision or any shares in Activision. I have, however, played CoD4.

Read on, enjoy, and review.

{~~}

**I Hate Picture Windows**

_Bandur District, Murruwa, Saudi Arabia_

_March 8, 2007_

_4:31 P.M_

It was an unusually hot and humid day in Murruwa, even for the tenants of the city. The sun showed down in almost white light, causing shimmering waves to rise from the street, walls and rooftops of the sandstone buildings of the small town. Worse, the nearest source of clean water was a twelve mile walk in the sweltering heat.

However, the discomfort of the 103 degree weather was the least of SSgt. Riley "Rough" Rhodes. The Delta Force sniper was crouched on the fourth floor overlook of a sandstone building, unremarkable from the others on the street, overlooking the main road of Murruwa. Rhodes wiped his forehead again, tightening the bandanna around his head as he looked down the scope of his M21 Sniper Weapons System. He spat on the balcony's floor and watched as the little puddle of saliva boiled on the off-white surface of the building.

Rhodes' radio headset crackled to life, and the voice on the other end, Lance Corporal Davis Mayhew, spoke up. "Staff Sergeant? Rhodes, can you hear me? Confirm."

Rhodes tipped the stock of the rifle back on a small cast-iron table and lowered the microphone into position. With a flick of the receiver, he was speaking to Mayhew. "Confirmed, Mayhew. What have you got for me?"

A second passed, and Rhodes pictured the corporal scratching the back of his head, as he always did when considering his next response. "Change of plans. Target's closing from the wrong side of the city, you'll have to shift position."

Rhodes sighed. "Corporal, are you one hundred percent sure Target's vehicle is closing from the opposite approach to Murruwa?" He implored, already dreading the answer.

"Affirmative," Mayhew droned. He sighed into the microphone, the crackle hurting Rhodes' ears. Another second passed before the corporal continued, "You'll have to head to another building."

Rhodes looked around him. None of the other buildings in Murruwa were high enough off the ground that he could get a clear shot over the other rooftops and into the Target's sedan. "How long until he gets here?"

Another pause. "About five minutes, sir. You have to relocate or we'll lose our only chance at getting him."

Rhodes looked around him. All of the other buildings within five minutes' distance were too short or lacked too much camouflage to hide the Sergeant from vigilant eyes. However…

"Three minutes, sir." Mayhew chimed in. Rhodes growled under his breath. No, that would have to be the way to do it. There was now no other option.

"Mayhew, keep an eye on that soldier. I'm moving up to the sixth floor of my present building; there's a picture window that will serve as an overwatch. I'll use that as my staging area."

{~~}

Sabur Ad-Damesh, better known as "Target", was sitting comfortably in the back of his silver Rolls-Royce as he rolled across the desert plains towards Murruwa. Damesh was a known collaborator with local terrorist forces, and a notorious black market trafficker- namely in the trade of weapons-grade uranium. Recently, Damesh- along with an entourage of three of his best bodyguards- had brokered a deal with an international benefactor that four tons of Uranium-237 was to be moved to a hidden paramilitary base outside of the town of Murruwa.

Little did he know, was that the warlord had been baited.

As far as he knew, there would be a contact waiting for him in a small farmhouse a few miles outside Murruwa, but at the last minute the plans had changed and he would have to approach through Murruwa due to "unforeseen circumstances". Wary, Damesh had his convoy- consisting of his silver Rolls-Royce and an old transport truck carrying the U-237- to approach from the opposite side of Murruwa. Confident in thinking that he had outsmarted any attackers, Damesh had relaxed in the plush interior of the sedan with a glass of wine and a fine cigar.

Little did he know, Sabur Ad-Damesh was playing right into the hands of a well-coordinated Delta Force strike.

Rhodes had relocated to the fifth floor room, consisting of a small office space with a desk, some potted plants and a projector screen- and, of course, that massive picture window. Carefully placing himself at the corner where the screen met the far wall, Rhodes steadied his M21 against his shoulders, rolled down his sleeves, pulled on his goggles and waited.

Rhodes knew the risks he would be taking by using the picture window- glass messing with his shot, shards stabbing him, and so on- but he had no choice. With the sun and lack of cover on the roof, Rhodes and his sniper rifle would easily be spotted on the roof, and standing at street level with an automatic weapon and mines would be too dangerous- who knew how many civilians could be caught in the crossfire?

No, shooting through the window would suffice because it simply had to.

{~~}

Mayhew chimed in again. "Target's convoy has just arrived in visual range and is slowing to stop at the checkpoint outside Murruwa. Are you ready, Sergeant?"

Rhodes took a few deep breaths to calm himself and stave off the adrenaline rush that was sure to come. "Yeah, I'm ready." Putting the M21 to his shoulder and resting his cheek against the cool stock of the weapon. He sighted in on the lead vehicle- a silver Rolls Royce, by the symbol on the grille- looked for the bear of a man in the back of the car, uttered a silent prayer to whatever deity that was out there watching over him, and squeezed the trigger.

The round penetrated the glass wall with a horrifyingly loud crash, followed by the whole window falling to pieces and crashing to the rooftops and the street below. People screamed and guns barked on the outskirts of town as the transport truck- containing almost four tons of Uranium-237, if Rhodes remembered the briefing properly- attempted to nudge around the immobilized Rolls Royce. One of the gunmen- presumably the driver of the Rolls- made a break for the building where Rhodes was hiding, waving his AKS-74 at Rhodes' vantage point and firing wildly.

When the shots started, Rhodes was already on the move. However, when he had reached the third floor of the building, the surprisingly fast gunman had arrived at the landing and started shooting. Rhodes, startled, leapt back into the sandstone wall as wildly inaccurate rounds pinged around him, chipped the walls, ripped through his clothing and seared his flesh without touching him once. He turned and, in one motion, fired a few haphazard shots at the gunman, who was shouting wildly at men in the street below him, all carrying weapons of some sort- ranging from AK-47s to an ancient wheel-lock rifle.

Rhodes cursed loudly as he reached the fourth floor. A Molotov cocktail flew through the balcony door where he had been standing a few minutes ago, lighting the draperies on fire and making the room- already a balmy 106 degrees- even more unbearably hot. Making a hard right and heading for the stairs to the fifth floor, Rhodes dodged a few more wild rounds and made it to the fifth floor landing. Without slowing down, he sprinted for the stairs to the sixth floor as a few more (five? Six? Rhodes didn't hear all of the cocktails make impact) lit the room's contents on fire.

Reaching the sixth floor as still more bullets pinged around the room and shouts came up the stairwell behind him, Rhodes looked at his escape route- the picture window he had just shattered. Looking behind him at the angry mob rushing up the stairs at him, chucking Molotov cocktails and firing wildly at him, Rhodes realized he had only one choice now- there was no turning back.

"I fucking hate picture windows!" Rhodes shouted as he sprinted for the ruined frame and leapt out as far as his legs would take him.

{~~}

**Author's Footnote: **Well, how was it? Read and review, and keep an eye out for upcoming stories (read: not one-shots) containing more of our Delta sniper hero.


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